Leaves of Gold & Threads of Silver
by Valkyrista
Summary: An Elf ponders the consequences of loving the wife of another. If you've read my other work, you will recognize the unnamed characters; however, the piece stands on its own. It is simply a vignette.


_**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Original Character and the adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.**_

He stood in the Golden Wood. It was as beautiful as ever, yet he sensed he was alone. With the Lady of Light gone back to Valinor and Lord Celeborn across the Anduin in East Lorien, there were no more Elves in Lothlorien. None but him.

How he got there, he did not know. He now dwelt in Ithilien with his brothers and their friends. They were helping the land to bloom again after centuries of evil. They had fought more wars, but all in all, it was a pleasant place to be. He was with his kin and his friends and … near her.

Sometimes it hurt to think on her for too long. She was beautiful, but not devastatingly so; yet she never failed to take his breath when he saw her. She was mortal, and so would age and die; he was Elven, immortal and could only die from injury or despair. He was free, indulging his desires with whomever he pleased; she was married and bound to one of his dearest friends.

And so, he loved her quietly and at some distance. His brothers knew; the ancient Elf-Lord could see it in him, though he had never discussed the matter with him in depth. His friend, however, saw only his devotion to his wife and did not think it inappropriate. His friend did not know the true measure of his feeling.

She knewshe had to. He had seen the realization in her eyes on more than one occasion, though they never spoke of it. To do so would bring awkwardness into their friendship and, once spoken, the words could never be forgotten.

She loved him; of that, he had no doubt. She cared for him as a devoted friend, as her champion, as the friend of her husband. There were times he could almost see temptation in her eyes, so he knew she saw him as one who could have been a potential lover.

But she loved her husband more. Their bond was deep and their love for each other deeper. They were as one and to witness their obvious care and commitment to one another was an intensely moving experience; except for him, his emotions also touched on sadness, knowing he would never have such a bond with the woman he loved, for she was forever bound to another.

He had borne witness to their sufferings and their joys; life in Middle Earth was seldom without risk. He had seen them share their strength with one another, each helping the other to rise above the horrors of wars and cruelties perpetrated in the name of power, from both earthly and supernatural enemies. Neither wavered in their belief and devotion toward the other. He had stood vigil and comforted her when she thought her husband lost or answering the call of Mandos. He had pulled her frozen body from icy rivers and held her close, carrying her to safety as Morgoth's demons tried to send them from this life. He had ridden with her husband to search for her when those who would do evil to his friends had taken her. He had comforted his friend when he thought his wife lost to him. When they were in the tents of the Elven army, he had heard their soft cries of passion as they joined their bodies, hearts and souls in celebration of their love for one another.

Yet there was no one to comfort him. When she was lost or in pain, there was no one to whom he could turn for solace, or to seek advice on how best to help the woman he loved. When she was happy and wished to share her joy with him, he could do naught but hold her for a moment and give her a brief, chaste, brotherly kiss.

He took physical pleasure from others, and achieved release. There were many who sought him for just such a purpose, as he was considered stunning even amongst the natural beauty of Elf-kind. He brought much delight to those with whom he lay, and until he had met her, had found his sport quite enjoyable.

But there was no satisfaction for him, now, in any of these liaisons. Any sating of his desires was only temporary, and he knew the one who could completely fulfill his need was forever out of his reach.

He did not know why he craved her so; that was the mystery of love. Only that she had touched something in his spirit that he had not known existed before they met; a longing that she answered. When he was with her, he felt as though he were at home; she was like the Golden Wood to him.

And so he found himself in the empty city of Caras Galadhon. No light shining from the talans; with the Lady gone, the light no longer dwelt in Lorien; the golden leaves of the mallorn trees drifting in unseen winds and his heart empty. Perhaps he should simply give up his life here. It was the way of his kind to do so when in despair. He was not really needed in Ithilien; and all Elves would return to Valinor anyway; he would just get there sooner than his brothers.

Perhaps that thought is what brought him to the empty realm of Lothlorien, his home for millennia. He had guarded its borders with his brothers from all enemies for he was a Warden of Lorien, one of the Guardians of the Golden Wood. They were known throughout Middle Earth for their protection of the land and beings under their care. Perhaps it was here, in his true home, that he was meant to cross into Mandos' Halls, there to be judged for his deeds while in Middle Earth.

He found himself climbing the steps to the talan he had shared with his brothers when they dwelt here. It was empty now, with mallorn leaves scattered about the floor. His soundless steps carried him through the familiar places and he felt a sadness in his heart that what had brought him so much contentment for the long years of his life was now abandoned and already fading into shadow.

He looked at his bed, still soft and welcoming. He had spent countless hours with various lovers in that bed and the memories brought a smile to his lips. Still, he would have traded them for just one moment with her …

He lay down and closed his eyes. He thought of his brothers: they would understand for they knew of his love. He hoped they would not hold his leaving against her. He knew they would not, for they were wise and understood his heart.

He thought of his friends. They would not understand why he had chosen to give up his life for they knew nothing of his torment.

Finally, he thought of her. He wanted his last thoughts as his spirit left to flee to Mandos, to be of the one he loved so much. She would be hurt; she did not understand the call of Valinor to his kind, and so could not understand his willingness to give up his life. He thought of her tears and knew she would weep for him, for the loss of her friend. Still, it was best; her husband would comfort her and she would gain strength in his arms.

He could hear the sea and a light far across the waves called to him. This was the light from Mandos' Halls. His spirit began to loose its bonds and he thought, 'I have made the right decision'.

He felt a presence with him, then the bed shifted and soft fingers touched his face. He tore his gaze away from the welcoming light and opened his eyes. She looked down at him, her smile beautiful and sad, her eyes glistening like the leaves in Ithilien when the soft spring rains fell.

"Why would you leave me?" she asked, her voice a soothing balm on his weary soul.

"I must," he whispered, though he could not remember speaking.

"Do you leave because of the pain? Is it so awful to love me?"

"Yes." He could barely draw breath to answer her. Her nearness awakened his yearning.

"Even though I love you?"

He had never heard those words from her lips. She had told him, in the past, that she cared for him; that he was her dearest friend. Never had she used the word love.

"You love your husband."

"Yes."

"You cannot love another."

"Is the heart limited in how much love it has to give? Are we only allotted a certain amount that must be parceled out to those we choose to love? If we love one, can we not love another?"

"You are bound to your husband and I know your love is true and pure. Any love for me would be tainted for it is outside of your bond."

"True love is never tainted or wrong. Yes, I am bound to my husband and I love him with every fiber of my being, my heart and my soul. Yet, I love you, as well. I love you as a friend and companion; as one who speaks to my spirit; as my champion, my protector, my comrade. I love you and will be diminished without you. You are a part of what makes me complete."

Her fingertips continued to caress his face, his hair, the tip his ear before drifting down to brush over his shoulder, his throat, his chest. He did not remember removing his clothing before lying down, and was suddenly aware of being covered only by the thin, silky sheet.

He caught her hand and held it. "Please," he said. "Do not taunt me. I cannot bear it; not from you."

She gave a small frown. "Is that what you think I am doing? Do you think I am trying to tease you, tempt you?" She shook her head. "I am here to be with you."

He did not understand. Then she raised the sheet and slipped underneath, her body soft and warm against his. He had not noticed her remove her gown, yet he could feel her smooth flesh as she lay her head on his shoulder and molded her body to his. He thought on how much he had desired just such a thing, and tentatively put his arms around her, holding her to him.

Her fingers idly traced the smooth muscles of his chest and arms, then the outline of his lips. Her touch was so soft and gentle and he wanted it to never stop. His lips parted and he caught one of her fingers between them, kissing it, lightly touching it with his tongue.

He heard her breath catch and he turned to look at her. She gazed up at him and he saw desire that matched his own and he pulled her closer, bringing his mouth down onto hers.

The touch of their lips was like a spark igniting the flame of passion. Her mouth opened to his and his tongue met hers as her fingers entwined in his silky hair of finely spun silver and gold. Her golden and copper waves were spread on the pillow and he could smell the oil of the wildflowers she combed through it.

His hands moved over her body, caressing the full, firm globe of her breast, before moving down to the curve of her hip. Her body was so different from those of the she-Elves he had known; different even from the mortal women he had bedded. Her body was strong, the body of a warrior, yet soft and lush; a body meant for passion.

Their kiss broke and he lowered his head to her breast. Her taste reminded him of honey and flowers and the sea. She sighed his name, the sound reminding him of his insistent need. Still, he wished to bring her pleasure before taking his own.

She teased his chest with her fingernail and his breathing quickened. His desire was demanding to be satisfied and even his Elven discipline could not contain it much longer.

"I would join with you," he said, knowing he was damning himself, damning them both.

"Then do so, my love. I am here for you," she replied, joining him in the furtherance of their transgression.

He paused and looked into her eyes. What they had done already was bad enough. They had now reached the point of no return. If he saw one glimmer of doubt in her, he would stop, though he knew not how he would be able to ease his aching need.

She met his look with one of serenity and love and, holding her gaze, he melded his body with hers. O, Eru! He would spend eternity in the void to pay for this moment of exquisite joy, and would do so without complaint. He lowered his lips to hers and made love to her mouth as he made love to her body.

Suddenly, she gripped the strong, smooth muscles of his shoulders and he looked into her eyes as she cried out his name. He answered with hers, never breaking their passionate gaze. When their crisis had passed, she drew him down so their tongues could swirl slowly together as their breathing returned to normal. He moved to the side and pulled her into his embrace, stroking her hair, her shoulder, the thigh she had resting against his hips.

He closed his eyes. Now, he could go to Mandos happily. He had known perfect joy and the judgment of the Valar held no fear for him. He had chosen this path and had no regrets.

"You still wish to leave me."

"I do not wish to leave, but I must."

"Why?"

"I have betrayed the trust of my friend by making love to his wife."

"You do not need to give up your life, my love. Your feelings and desires are your own and are nothing to be ashamed of. You are an honorable Elf and your love for me is a perfect, wonderful and honorable thing."

"But I have acted dishonorably."

"Have you?"

He opened his eyes and looked down at the woman in his arms, but he was alone. He sat up. The house was different. He recognized his surroundings: Ithilien. The warm breeze blew through the open windows, lightly ruffling the sheet that covered him. A dream. It had been naught but a dream.

Yet his body had the delicious ache that so often followed passionate lovemaking. He felt a soreness in his shoulders and, glancing down at one, saw faint, tiny indentations, like those left by nails gripping him in the throes of desire. It was likely he had done it himself by accident and incorporated the sensation into his dream.

He rose and walked over to the table by the door, and poured himself a cup of water. He could still taste her, and was loath to drink, fearing the cool water on his tongue would wash away the lingering reminder of honey and flowers and the sea. But his throat was dry and he knew it was only an illusion, so he drained the cup.

The first grays of dawn were lighting the sky and he knew he would be unable to return to sleep, so he sat and watched the sun rise in the east and thought of his dream, heedless of the two golden leaves the breeze blew from where the thrown-back covers of his bed had hidden them.

Across the forest, the woman awoke to see her husband holding something as he lay next to her. She felt an enjoyable exhaustion, an after-effect, she presumed, of their nightly sport. She thought he might have awoken her the same way, as he sometimes did, since she still felt a vague, but pleasant impression of kisses and other agreeable things.

"Good morning, my love."

He turned to her and his dazzling smile and steel-blue eyes were both full of love and her heart felt near bursting with love for this Elf who had given her his heart and held hers with such tenderness.

"Good morning, my princess," he answered and, turning, kissed her deeply, stirring her ever-present craving for her husband.

When their kiss ended she nodded at the object in his hand.

"What is that?"

"A leaf."

"Where did you get it?"

"It was stuck in your hair."

She frowned. She did not recall any leaves being in her hair before they went to bed. In fact, he had brushed her long, reddish-gold waves before they had retired for the night.

"I suppose it could have blown in through the open balcony during the night," she said.

"I suppose," he replied. "But the strange thing is, these trees do not grow in Ithilien. They grow in only one place in Middle Earth."

"What kind of leaf is it?"

"A mallorn leaf."


End file.
